Respawn
by Magdaleria
Summary: When Giran begins to name drop the League of Villains in all of his dirty little dealings, you can't help but get curious. When asking around leads you to their doorstep, there's only one thing you can do - something Really Stupid. Pre-Shigaraki/Fem!Reader. M for language.


**Authors note at the bottom.**

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I would like to say I had no idea how I ended up in this situation but that would be a lie. It was because I was, put simply, a dumbass.

Maybe if I wanted to put it nicely I'd say something like, "I just don't have the best impulse control," or whatever, but in the end? Nope, it was stupid. Hell, _I_ was stupid, in this moment at the very least, staring up at the cracked paint of an otherwise nondescript door.

The door leading to, if my "sources" were correct, the entrance to the League of Villains.

I was well aware of all the ways this could go wrong. Hell, I kind of figured it would, but I hadn't spent the last what, month? Since I'd heard Giran drop the name, since the Hero Killer was apprehended, using every bit of street cred I'd managed to finesse by working for that stuffy, ugly-glasses wearing ass to walk away now. One way or another I was going in, and I was going to get an answer.

With a single deep breath to steel myself, I quickly reached out and turned the rusted knob, stepping through and shutting the door behind me with a muted thud.

I don't know what exactly I expected – Giran did most of his dealings in the seedy backrooms of shops and strip clubs tainted by the stench of cigarette smoke or in unremarkable office buildings so cookie-cutter they barely felt real. This, though? I had walked right into a seemingly upscale, if private, bar. The upholstery was in good condition, the bar a deep mahogany shining under warm low lighting.

Perhaps more pressing than the furniture though were the two bodies inhabiting said room.

"Who the hell are you?" I startled at the sound of a deep voice calling from within the bar, my eyes darting up to see the guise of someone who seriously needed to invest in chapstick. The man would be average if not for the shock of white hair on top of his head and, you know, the ungodly cracked skin of his face. Has he never moisturized? Never been to Lush?

Wait, shit, he'd asked me a question. "I'm here to join. The League of Villains, that is." It only struck me as the sentence left my mouth that if I had somehow managed to wander into some place that was not, in fact, their hideout that these would be Not Great Words to be saying to random strangers.

There was a beat of silence.

"What, so you just walked in? Who does that?" The guy muttered, setting down his – was that a 3DS? – to scratch absently at the already irritated looking skin on the column of his throat. I wanted to sympathy-wince. "Kurogiri, who is this?"

Kurogiri, apparently, was the misty-headed bartender who had been lingering quietly thus far. As the white-haired man – was this Shigaraki then? The supposed big-bad leader of the league played Pokemon? -called out, he stopped wiping down the wine glass he'd been holding, turning his (head?) in my direction.

"We weren't informed of any potential new recruits – how did you hear of us? And this location?" The bartender asked, his voice surprisingly pleasant to listen to.

"I, uh, I work for Giran—"

Shigaraki let out a low hiss as soon as I spoke, his hand jerking against his neck. "I told him I didn't want any more Stain worshippers! I told him!" He spat Stain's name as though he were trying to curse me, or maybe curse _at_ me with it.

I shook my head, waving my hands semi-frantically in front of me as the man looked half-ready to dart of his chair and strangle me with those gnarled fingers of his. "No, no, no! Not a Stain fan! Giran didn't send me!"

My admission seemed to calm him down slightly – Shigaraki let out a huff like an unruly teenager and hunched back in his barstool as Kurogiri hummed from behind the bar.

"He didn't?" The man prompted. I tried my best not to look like someone who'd just gotten their hand lodged in the illicit cookie jar.

"No, he didn't. I, uh, I heard him mention your organization and asked around. Learned about what you guys were doing, and your goals, and well – I want to help." I explained, nervously adjusting the hem of my sweater as I waited to see what they said. I couldn't read smoke-head guy's expression worth shit (did he even have one?) but Shigaraki was slightly easier – it seemed slightly less sulky than it had a moment before, and he was actually looking my way now.

"What do you think you can bring—" Kurogiri began to speak only to be immediately cut off.

"What's your quirk?"

It was like the question had taken all of the oxygen in the room with it. I'd known they would ask – of course they would, they were a group of fucking villains after all, they kind of needed manpower, but I'd hoped it wouldn't be so soon. Because that was the crux of the matter, wasn't it? What could you do, what abilities did you have, how helpful could you be, how worthwhile were you to us, etc. It was how the world worked. But I? How could I offer anything when—

"I'm quirkless." I dropped the words as casually as I could no matter how bitter they tasted on my tongue. I figured they'd scoff, maybe do the thing with the pitying glances like I'd told them I had cancer rather than a genetic lack of superpowers. However, I did not expect for Shigaraki to immediately burst into fucking laughter.

It wasn't a pleasant sound to say the least – his voice was raspy, his laugh almost a giggle with how high pitched, how uneven it was. It bounced against the bar's wood paneling loud enough to be uncomfortable and I could feel my face slowly beginning to heat as it persisted. I was about ready to do—something, I wasn't sure what. Attempt to kick his chair over? Walk out and pretend this never happened? The laughter finally faded and the man was left wiping his eyes with the back of his wrist.

"What are you, an idiot? Why would we want you?" Shigaraki asked, lips twisted up in a manic grin that seemed to stretch his cheeks even as his eyes remained dark. I raised my chin slightly, trying to swallow back the humiliating urge to cry as it stung in the back of my throat – I was used to rejection. I had to remember that I'd expected this.

"I can help." I retorted as calmly as I could manage – being me, that was 'not very.' Even to my own ears I sounded defensive. "I have connections, I can go places most people can't, go unnoticed—"

"We don't need _help_," The villain sneered, his mood apparently functioning like a light switch as it turned back to irritation in the blink of an eye.

Kurogiri cleared his throat. "Shigaraki Tomura-san—"

But his boss(?) wasn't done yet. "And we don't need a stupid NPC like you to kill All Might—"

"I am _not _an NPC-!"

"We already have all the players we need and we don't need any worthless tag-a-longs—"

"I'm not worthless!" My voice cracked as I raised my volume, my words coming out in a shout. My hands were shaking from where they rested clenched against my sides and I barely noticed the way Shigaraki's eyes widened, startled. "I worked my ass off to get as far as I did, I've survived every fucking thing that was thrown at me, and I'll see this world ground under my heel if I have to do it my god-damned self!"

Another stilted silence, this one lasting long enough for me to realize exactly what I'd just done. Shouting at an obviously unstable villain-master-league-whatever? Not my brightest moment. Jesus, I could hear metaphorical alarm bells beginning to ring over the thudding of my pulse as I noticed the stiff way Shigaraki was holding himself in his chair. Was he actually going to strangle me? I mean, I'd considered dying as an option but not _seriously_, like I really thought they'd just turn me away and I'd go home, cry, and watch anime or something.

"Why." I jumped as the villain spoke, eyes darting to his face, nerves twinging as I realized it was obscured by his hair; I couldn't make out his expression.

"Shigaraki-san…" Kurogiri warned, his voice tense but his posture relaxed – I had the sinking suspicion that no actual help was going to come from that corner if this turned out bad.

"Why do you want it to be crushed?" He spat, his head jerking up, eyes wide, the cracked skin around them pulling grotesquely. "Unjust heroes? Unfair society?" His tone turned mocking as he went.

I clenched my jaw and shook my head in denial. Shigaraki stood up from his chair, sending it teetering on two legs behind him. I didn't even have the wherewithal to flinch when it collided with the floor as my vision was suddenly almost entirely obscured by a mass of scrawny unkempt villain-leader, his face close enough to mine that I could count the cracks in his lips, see the crusted remains of blood on his chin. I yearned for a charcoal mask. I yearned for the sweet release of death.

"Then why?" He asked again, harsh and blunt – I could feel the moist heat of his breath on my skin he was standing so near.

"The whole thing is shit. Heroes, quirks, the laws, morals—it's busted. It's- it's toxic. It needs to just, start over. All of it. No more heroes, no more All Might, none of it. There's no such thing as a real hero." If I was going to die, I was going to do it by giving the most epic, cheesy speech I was physically capable of, even if my voice wobbled a bit as I gave it. I wasn't crying yet – I just had to keep that in mind. I had not cried in front of the villain, and I was allowed to be proud of that.

Shigaraki just kind of—stared at me, for a moment. Judging. Unblinking. His eyes had looked dark, nearly black from a few feet away but up close I could see the red, the deep crimson surrounding his pupils. Part of his quirk? It made him look a bit like a mid-2000s vampire.

"Fine." He replied a moment later, like that was at all a valid response to my _incredibly heartfelt_ confession just then. He leaned back and I let out the breath I'd been unwittingly holding as I regained my personal space. Without looking at me, he skulked back over to the bar, not picking up the seat he'd knocked over but instead plopping in another one, reaching over and snagging the DS on the counter without another word.

Kurogiri and I glanced at each other, a shared moment of utmost confusion.

"…Fine?" I echoed uneasily, wondering if I should take this chance to just book it and pray that I hadn't pissed anyone off enough to follow me.

"Yeah, fine, whatever. You can join." The words were mumbled as the man had already gone back to his console, shoulders hunched and chin tucked nearly against his chest. I choked slightly, because what!?

"Shigaraki-san-?" Kurogiri began, only to get cut off once more, and man in the past few minutes alone that seemed to be a recurring theme. I hope he got paid well.

"I said she's joining and she is! I said so! Now shut up!" He barked, shoulders hunched even as he darted a glare in the bartender's direction – said bartender seemed just as dumbfounded as I was, but gave in with far more grace.

"As you wish." He agreed with a slight incline of his head. "Miss, I can answer some more of your questions if you would take a seat…?"

I stared at him blankly for a moment before his words registered. "Oh, uh, yeah! Yes. I can do that." I sat awkwardly at the bar a few seats away from Shigaraki, hands clasped in front of me.

Well, shit. Now what?

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**Woohoo! Now this is a definite change from what I usually write - that being, far less edgy and dramatic. It was still fun though! **

**Shigaraki is a really interesting character to write, and while I was rewatching his scenes and stalking his wiki I learned he's only 20? Wack. **

**This fic was actually a commission I did for a friend of mine - on the off chance that anyone else would be interested in something like this, feel free to message me over on my tumblr lagpie  
**

**Song of the Chapter: "Love Ain't Even Real" - Mantits**


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